Scary Movies
by MGMK
Summary: Movie night...


**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author****'****s****Note:** Special thanks to my beta for going over this one super quickly for me. Thanks to you guys for reading and reviewing. It's super awesome. Lol, what's with me and the word 'super' lately. Anyway, not to spoil anybody or anything, but, it looks like I'm gonna have to stop hating on Glee every Wednesday, lol. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Happy Halloween.

***o*O*o***

There are some things about Santana Lopez that only Brittany knows about.

Santana likes to project this aura of toughness and Brittany doesn't really mind because she totally digs the knight in shining armor shtick or, in her case, knightress.

Plus, there is probably a grand total of one thing hotter than the image of her girlfriend in a breast plate and brandishing a sword:

…The image of her girlfriend _not_in a breast plate brandishing a sword.

Anyway, the point is, Santana Lopez is tough…or she's supposed to be.

Except, she's really not.

She cries over the silliest things like not being able to tan or, you know, spaghetti in her hair.

And she almost fainted when she got that paper cut last week.

She's like a hostess cupcake, already pretty soft on the outside but complete creamy goodness on the inside.

…that sounds kinda dirty.

Anyway, Brittany's point is Santana's a tough girl around everyone else, but when she's with Brittany…well, things like this happen.

"What'd you get this time?" Brittany hears her ask as she loads the DVD player.

Brittany likes to sleep in next to nothing and she finds herself fighting against a blush as she feels Santana's eyes burning into her backside.

She scoots back onto the bed until she's nestles under the blankets, back pressed against the headboard as she steadies the remote. Brittany smirks, wiggling her eyebrows at Santana. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes," Santana intones and Brittany fights back a laugh at how her best friend's eyes worriedly trip across to the TV. "That's why I asked."

Brittany shifts closer, her lips pressed right against Santana's ear as she whispers. "It's a surprise," she husks out, grinning mischievously when Santana shivers.

Brittany gives her girl a little room, her eyes watching as Santana's throat works to swallow. "I usually love your surprises Britt-Britt. But not when it comes to movies."

Brittany laughs at Santana's worried look, pulling her closer so that they're snuggled together. "Trust me. You'll love it."

***o*O*o***

_**30 minutes later…**_

"Britt, what is he going to do with that pitch fork?"

Brittany snorts, even though Santana's sure her grip is kind of hurting her arm. "Tana…"

"Oh my God, is that blood," Santana gasps, sitting up a little straighter. "Britt, what is he…oh no..oh my God, no…oh…oh…" The second the crazy dude raises his pitchfork is the moment Santana buries her face in Brittany's neck, eyes squeezed shut. "Turn it off!"

"Now way," Brittany snickers gleefully, watching the scene play out on the screen. "This is classic."

Santana jumps again, the sound alone enough to frighten her. "Britt-Britt," she murmurs into warm skin, pleading. "Please turn it off."

Now, there are some things about Brittany S. Pierce that only Santana knows.

It's actually pretty shocking considering how vocal Brittany is about everything she likes from sex to…well, that's pretty much it. Brittany's not shy about discussing her sex life with anyone.

They're pretty much banned from church for that reason.

But, Brittany doesn't share all. Like, she thinks peanut allergies are pretty damn scary – her little sister is allergic and watching Harmony's little face turn blue was pretty much the scariest thing Brittany's ever seen _ever_.

And that her "quirkiness" – she's dubbed it that because Brittany's _not_ stupid, she just thinks _way_outside the box…completely outside…like, she thinks in the circle – is something that she can't help and honestly, even though Brittany wants to, Santana wouldn't want her any differently.

But, this last thing…really, Santana can't wrap her mind around it.

It's like this: they've been having movie nights for as long as she can remember – or, well no, that's not true – but they've definitely been having them for as long as she _cares_ to remember.

It's been happening since freshman year when a long-legged Brittany impressed the crap out of Sue Sylvester in Cheerios tryouts by doing the splits like no one's business and Santana wanted on that squad more than she wanted boobs. So she'd asked Brittany for a little training and they'd clicked so well that Santana'd very conveniently forgot to tell the girl to go home, and instead they stayed up all night watching Brat Pack movies.

Their movie night tradition has withstood boyfriends and arguing parents, confessions of love and lust, but every Friday without fail Brittany would turn up on Santana's doorstep and Santana would drop whatever – or whoever – she was doing to snuggle under the covers with her BFF.

It was a pretty sweet arrangement – hell, it still is – except…

Brittany kind of has the worst taste in movies.

Well, that's not fair, but while Santana's admittedly this hard, brash-talking, unflinching HBIC, her taste in movies is somewhat embarrassing, but whatever, she likes a good rom-com.

And Brittany, with her love of all things fluffy and magical and soft around the edges, has an absolutely _sick_ idea of what passes for entertainment.

Need evidence?

Just ask the chainsaw-wielding, hockey mask-wearing, mass murderer.

Santana squeezes her eyes shut just a little tighter when she hears the shrieking scream and her whole body sags with relief when the noise disappears as Brittany finally acquiesces.

"It's off now," Brittany murmurs against the crown of her head.

Santana doesn't sound convinced. "You didn't just put it on mute, did you?"

"_San_," Brittany bemoans, prying Santana's gripping fingers off her arm before slipping her own fingers between them.

Santana breathes out a sigh of relief, allowing her body to finally relax. "Thank God."

Brittany smiles. "You're such a wuss."

"You're so mean," Santana admonished with a scoff that turns into a gasp when Brittany suddenly and efficiently turns them over so that she's straddling her.

"I'll show you how mean I can be," Brittany grins coyly, rolling her hips, delighting in the little gasp Santana lets loose at the pressure.

***o*O*o***

One other thing that only Brittany knows about Santana: she likes it on the bottom.

A lot.

_**Fin.**_


End file.
